One Day At A Time
by KoshIII
Summary: My h/c Secret Santa gift to TheOnlySPL.  AU - After their breakup in Bombshells, instead of looking for hookers and Vicodin, House actually looks for help.


This was written for the house_cuddy Livejournal community's Secret Santa. This fic is for Laura (TheOnlySPL). She did not specifically request fic, but because she got me, that's what she's stuck with!

**Prompt:** a proposal, or **a gesture from house to make up for a fight**...or...Cuddy is pregnant...or... whatever you want really ;)

This is an alternate version of what could have happened after Bombshells, so deviates from canon in Out of the Chute and all later episodes.

HC/HC/HC/HC/HC/HC

"It's not about the pills, House. It's about what they mean." Cuddy had a grim look on her face that never signaled anything good.

His heart began to pound. He had stayed sober for almost two years, but thrown it away the other night so that he wouldn't let Cuddy down. And now she had found out about it, and she looked _pissed_.

"I was scared...because I thought my girlfriend might die." He willed his heart to slow down, wishing for a brief moment that he had a Vicodin this second. He could count on one hand the number of times in his life that he had admitted his deepest, true feelings to someone else. Most of those times he had been shot down, even ridiculed. He hoped that wouldn't happen this time, even as a cynical voice in his head told him that it would.

"Nooo," she replied, wagging her finger. "You don't take Vicodin because you're scared. You take it so you won't feel pain. Everything you've ever done is to avoid pain – drugs, sarcasm, keeping everybody at arm's length so no-one can hurt you."

He had hoped Cuddy would slow down and really listen to him when he opened up. Instead, she was outright denying his feelings – even going so far as to change the subject.

"As opposed to everyone else in the world who goes looking for pain like it's buried treasure?" he snapped, still reeling from the accusation too much to try to set Cuddy straight.

"Pain happens when you care. You can't love someone without making yourself open to their problems...their fears. And you're not willing to do that."

He had just sacrificed his sobriety – arguably the most important achievement of his life – to make himself available to Cuddy. How could she not see that?

"I-I-c...I came to be with you." He knew it was a losing battle. If Cuddy couldn't tell he was telling the absolute truth; that he was opening himself up to her so completely that it hurt, then nothing else he said would make any bit of difference.

"But you weren't with me, not really."

She looked so sad. House knew that feeling of being so alone, even with other people. It pained him that she had ever felt that way with him.

"I wanted to be," he said desperately.

"That's not enough." The way she said it made him feel like she was expecting some sort of answer from him. What could he possibly say now that she would take any more seriously than before?

"I can do better," he tried, knowing that it was actually a lie – he had done so much not to piss her off, gone along with so many of her requests and orders that he knew he couldn't possibly have done anything further. Anything except not take drugs, which would always be a struggle for him, until the day he died. Most days he won the struggle, but occasionally he lost and relapsed. He wished he could say with certainty that he would never touch Vicodin again, but he knew that would be an even greater lie. She wasn't buying any of it, anyway.

"I don't think you can. You'll choose yourself over everybody else over and over again, because that's just who you are." She paused, struggling.

House didn't even understand what she had just said. If he had truly chosen himself, he would have stayed home for the last week watching monster trucks. He would have let Rachel get into whatever school would take her, without spending so much time, money, and effort on her. He wouldn't have gone to all of those galas and weddings and other miserable events with Cuddy that required him to dress up and play nice. He had allowed Wilson, Cuddy, even Chase to tell him what to do in order to be unselfish, but it had backfired. Apparently the way he had gone about trying to be supportive was also selfish. He couldn't win. He couldn't win and he couldn't make Cuddy change her mind.

He flinched as he felt her hand on his cheek. So many times she had caressed him, but this time, it was what – a farewell? Her next words confirmed it.

"I'm sorry." It sounded so sincere, so sad. Surely she didn't want to leave him any more than he wanted her to leave.

"No...no, no, no. Don't. Don't." He was humiliated to hear himself beg, but he almost didn't care. He would do anything not to break the one good thing he had in his life.

"I thought I could do this."

Her hand slid down gently to his chest, and he pushed away the memories of her touch from a different time; a time when just the slightest brush of her fingers made him tingle with excitement and hope. Now it was making him nauseous.

"Don't! Please, don't." The words sounded angry coming out, but in fact were uttered out of pure fear. He couldn't picture his life right now without her in it. Everything that made him happy had to do with her. He knew at some point in his life, for many years, in fact, he had been alone. He just couldn't remember whether he had ever been happy alone.

"Goodbye, House."

He let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. That was it. It was over. He stood there for what seemed like hours, eyes fixed on his still open front door. He stared hard at it, sure that she would come back and say it was all a mistake. He knew that closing the door would be admitting that she wasn't coming back; that it really was over.

He backed away and sat gingerly on the couch, wrapping the afghan around his shoulders. He told himself that he was just chilly from the air coming in the front door.

He thought about putting a blues album on. If ever there were a situation that called for Robert Johnson or Blind Willie McTell, breaking up with your girlfriend was it. But he knew that if he heard the blues, he would feel each song deeply. It was at times like this that he appreciated music the most, because it made the most impact. He couldn't do it. He couldn't put on any music, because he knew that if he did, he _would_ feel everything, and he couldn't. He knew with certainty that if he allowed himself to feel anything right now, he would break.

He wrapped the afghan tighter, shivering. He couldn't stand to be at home like this, staring at an empty apartment, front door wide open, waiting for someone who was never going to show up. He had to get out.

He stood up and dropped the afghan, grabbed his keys, and limped out the door, slamming it shut behind him. As he sat down on his motorcycle, a thought occurred to him. He reached into his back pocket and slid his wallet out. Fishing around, he found the folded piece of paper he was looking for. He looked at his watch. It was 7:34 PM. He could make it to Trenton in time. He folded the paper again, lifted his butt so he could shove the wallet back in his pocket, and then took off.

HC/HC/HC/HC/HC/HC

House sat in a metal folding chair, nursing a cup of coffee. Around him, people were socializing – greeting each other, introducing themselves. He avoided eye contact with everyone. In the rush to leave the apartment, he had forgotten his cane. If asked, he would say that the walk from the parking lot to the building had taken a lot out of him, and he really needed to sit for a while. In actuality, while his leg did hurt, he mostly just couldn't spare the mental energy required to be social. He wished he was back on his couch, hiding his head under the afghan. But he knew that right now he was exactly where he needed to be.

People finally began to take their seats, and he was almost relieved when a woman in her 40s cleared her throat and began talking.

"Hello, my name is Susan, and I am an addict. Welcome to this meeting of the Trenton group of Narcotics Anonymous..."

House had attended NA meetings for about six months after he had been released from Mayfield. He had found one with some like-minded people who didn't focus too much on the "Higher Power" aspect of the twelve steps. He had even received a yellow 9 month key tag, which included his time at Mayfield. In all of the stress and chaos of that first year out, he had eventually stopped going to meetings. The night of the crane collapse, he had ripped the key tag off of his keys and thrown it on the ground as he left the hospital, knowing that he was headed home to find his Vicodin stash. In the end, Cuddy had stopped him from taking any, but being with Cuddy had only postponed the inevitable. He had done nothing to deal with the underlying emotions that made him want to use again in the first place.

Now he was at square one, one day sober, and attending a meeting with total strangers who all looked like they loved the idea of surrendering to their Higher Power. But he knew if he hadn't come here, then he would be at home, getting high, by now. He sipped his coffee and tried to listen as nine strangers introduced themselves.

HC/HC/HC/HC/HC/HC

When the meeting was over, House fingered his new white, one-day NA key tag. On the back it said, "Just for Today." He knew a lot of people didn't display their tags in public, only collected them. But House had never cared what other people thought of him, and almost everyone knew he was an addict, anyway. He put it on his key ring as he pulled his cellphone out of his jacket.

Wilson answered in a worried voice. "House? Cuddy told me that she broke up with you. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," House answered, not sounding convincing in the least. "Listen...I need to stay with you tonight."

"Why? What's wrong with your place?"

"Nothing's wrong," House insisted. Inside his head, a voice screamed, _I can't stand to be in the place where my girlfriend of a year and friend of _twenty_ years just dumped me. I'll go crazy, or at least go back on drugs. I know you don't understand me at all, Wilson, but please just do this one thing for me without making a big deal about it!_

Instead, all he said was, "Just for one night. Please."

Either the "please" or the psychic inner monologue must have worked, because after only a short pause, Wilson said, "See you in ten?"

Relief coursed through House. "Actually, I'm in Trenton now, so it will be a little longer. But I'll be there soon."

As House hung up the phone, he could hear Wilson asking, "What the hell are you doing in Trent –"

House debated going back to his own apartment to grab a change of clothes and his cane, but found he really couldn't bring himself to do it. He would just borrow something from Wilson, or maybe he still had a few things there from the time he had lived with Wilson.

Wilson was waiting for him when he got there. As he held the door open, Wilson said, "Cuddy told me you had taken a Vicodin."

House nodded, pushing past Wilson so he could once again sit down. This whole night had been hell on his leg. "And I'm this close to taking _a_ lot _more_ of them right now. It hasn't been a great night."

"Sorry to hear that, House. Is that why you were in Trenton? Scoring some Vicodin?"

House shook his head, holding up his keychain. Wilson's eyes widened as he read the key tag. "_You? You_ went to an NA meeting? Of all people?"

House's eyes narrowed. "You know I used to attend meetings when I lived here with you."

Wilson laughed. "Yeah, when you were trying to get your medical license back and five different agencies were monitoring you. But are you telling me that you have actually gone to a meeting _voluntarily_?"

House was silent. He rubbed the key tag, trying to figure out what to say. Just like tonight with Cuddy, he didn't know what the right answer was. And just like with Cuddy, he decided to be completely honest, knowing that it would probably end just as badly. He simply didn't have the energy left to do anything else.

"I didn't know what else to do," he admitted quietly to Wilson.

Now Wilson was silent. House remained fixated on his key tag, not seeing Wilson soften. Finally, after a long and awkward silence, Wilson met House's eyes.

"This was a really bad night for you, huh?" he asked rhetorically. House just nodded. "But you haven't taken any Vicodin?"

House shook his head. "I wanted to," he mumbled. "I still want to now."

Wilson nodded. "You did the right thing. I'm proud of you, House."

House didn't respond, just traced his finger over the lettering on the key tag. _Just for Today_. Today was about all he could handle right now.

"Are you going to keep going to meetings?" Wilson asked.

House shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't believe it's over."

For the first time, the shock was starting to wear off. House knew that he would start feeling the full impact soon, and he was not looking forward to it.

"Go to bed," Wilson advised softly. "Maybe things will look better in the morning."

House doubted it, but for about the tenth time that evening, he didn't know what else to do. He wandered into Wilson's guest room and opened the drawers of the bureau to check whether they contained any of his clothes. They didn't. But then he spotted something on top of the bed. Moving closer to check what it was, he realized it was his own pajama pants. He must have left a pair here at some point, and Wilson had pulled them out when he called. House almost smiled at his friend's thoughtfulness. He slid out of his jeans and into the pajamas, then unbuttoned his shirt and slid that off, too.

Only a few minutes after his head hit the pillow, he fell into a deep sleep.

HC/HC/HC/HC/HC/HC

Although neither said anything to the other, by unspoken agreement House showed up after work the next day with a suitcase and one of his guitars. Both men knew that House would need to stay longer than just the one night.

Wilson had gone to talk to Cuddy during the work day. She had seemed sorry, but also fairly assured of her decision. At least until he had mentioned House's NA meeting.

"He went _where_?" she asked.

"He went to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. He has the one-day key tag on his keys if you want to check.

Cuddy looked at Wilson suspiciously. "He knew you would come and tell me. He's just trying to manipulate me. Manipulate both of us."

Wilson shook his head. "I don't think so, Lisa. I think he actually wanted the help."

When Wilson left Cuddy's office, she was twiddling a pencil between her fingers, staring off into space. It was possible she wasn't one hundred percent sure about this break-up, after all.

HC/HC/HC/HC/HC/HC

Two weeks later, House rushed into Wilson's condo. He had been unable to get away from the hospital at any reasonable hour, and now he had about three minutes to eat dinner – if he could find anything that could be cooked and eaten that fast – before he had to leave for his NA meeting.

House had not been going every day, but he _had_ found the same group he had abandoned over a year ago. He really appreciated the particular views – or lack of views, in this case – of the group, and had made an effort to catch both of the group's weekly meetings. This would be the first one he would have to skip, if he couldn't leave quickly enough.

Fortunately, Wilson knew that House had planned to go to a meeting tonight, and guessed that he was running late when the older man hadn't shown up for dinner. Wilson had saved House a bowl of stir-fry beef, which he popped into the microwave the second he heard the key in the lock.

By the time House got into the kitchen, Wilson was standing with a fork and a piping hot bowl of dinner for House. House gratefully took the food and began to shovel it in. Wilson winced, but sat down at the table and relaxed while House ate.

"Want to watch a movie when you get home?" Wilson asked.

House swallowed his mouthful and smiled. "Sure." He scooped up the last of the stir-fry and ate it as he tossed the bowl into the sink.

"Hey," House said, mouth still a bit full. "Why don't you come to the meeting with me? That way we can decide what to watch while we're in the car on the way back. We won't waste all that time."

Wilson looked up at House. Was this House's way of asking Wilson to be there for him without really asking? "Sure," he said, getting up from the table. The two grabbed their jackets and headed down to House's car.

HC/HC/HC/HC/HC/HC

"Hello, my name is Greg, and I'm an addict. Today I am sixteen days sober."

Wilson looked at House in surprise as everybody in the room murmured "Welcome, Greg." He hadn't been aware that House was keeping such close track. It seemed like one of those details that House would mock other people for.

House continued on. "I started coming back to meetings two weeks ago, after I relapsed." He looked down at his hands. "I know I haven't said much in these meetings. I think I needed some time to think through my life before I could explain it to someone else. But I also know that talking about things makes them more real. I guess that's why I've always hated talking about things."

A few people chuckled. Wilson stared at House with complete attention.

"Anyway, about two weeks ago, I relapsed. Because of that – sort of – my girlfriend broke up with me. I've been wanting the pills ever since. The only thing that's keeping me from going down that road is that I know how badly my life has gotten screwed up every other time I took them. But it's still really hard. It's hard because aside from not taking the pill, I don't know what I could have done differently. I don't know how I could have held on to my girlfriend...ex-girlfriend."

House struggled to go on. "I don't really know what I have left in my life." Then he decided that he had said enough. "Thank you," he finished weakly.

"Thank you, Greg," echoed the rest of the room. Wilson saw the hurt in House's eyes and had to look away.

On the drive back, they did not discuss the movie. Instead, both men were completely silent.

It wasn't until they were settled on the couch, watching the evening news, that Wilson finally spoke up.

"House...you have a lot left in your life. You know that, right?"

House didn't answer. Instead, he got up in the middle of the weather forecast and limped off to the guest room. "Goodnight, Wilson," he said.

"Goodnight, House," Wilson answered softly.

HC/HC/HC/HC/HC/HC

Cuddy came by House's office with a case file. He took it from her without saying a word. This type of silent exchange had become the norm since their breakup. Cuddy decided it was finally time to break the ice.

"I heard you've been going to NA meetings," she said casually.

House looked up from the case file. "Who ratted?"

"Was it a secret?" she asked, evading the question.

He shrugged. "Guess not. It just doesn't come up in many conversations."

She smiled at him. "It's a good thing, House. I'm proud of you."

He rolled his eyes.

"What?" she asked.

"You never were before," he said dully.

She nodded. "I know I never said anything. And I regret that. I was so proud of you when you came back from Mayfield. You were doing so many healthy things. You were even nicer to people. And I never said anything – never acknowledged all that effort."

House was becoming uncomfortable. "You were with Lucas then. You were distracted. It's okay."

She shook her head. "No it's not. I was proud of you then, and I'm proud of you now. And this time I want to make sure you know that."

He nodded and grabbed the case file so that he could change the subject. "I'll take a look at this and let you know what I come up with."

She smiled at his obvious attempt at deflection, but graciously let him do it. "I'll be in my office."

As she walked out, House opened the case file and tried to read it. But for the next few minutes, his brain wouldn't process anything, and he just read the same information over and over again.

HC/HC/HC/HC/HC/HC

When House got his orange 30-day key tag, he slid it onto the stem of a rose and took it to Cuddy.

"This is for you," he said. "An apology...for...the way things ended."

She smelled the rose and smiled, then slid the key tag off. "This is your 30-day tag," she protested. "Don't you want to put it on your own keychain?"

House shrugged. "I plan to get another one at 60 days. And the green one will match my keychain so much better."

Cuddy smiled at the implication that he planned to remain sober. "But this one matches your bike."

The corner of House's mouth twitched up as he offered, "Then maybe you should take a ride on my bike."

Her face fell as she realized they had crossed over into flirting. "What are we doing, House?"

Now he frowned, too. "I don't know."

"What is it that you want?" She knew he still wanted to get back together. She had to admit that she had considered the idea – a lot – but she still needed someone who she could count on. As proud as she was of him for swallowing his pride and attending NA meetings, she had seen no evidence that he wasn't just as selfish as he ever had been. So she was surprised at his answer.

"I want...whatever I can have. Whatever you want to give me."

She nodded. "What about for you? For your own future?"

He shrugged. "Right now, I can only deal with one day at a time."

She thought about it for over a minute, not even noticing that House was literally squirming at the silence. Finally, she replied. "How about...we have coffee this weekend. Nothing more – just a friendly cup of coffee in a public place."

He smiled. "I'll bring the extra sugar." He twirled his hips in a pseudo-dance, and Cuddy laughed.

"Okay. You do that."

HC/HC/HC/HC/HC/HC

He was asleep when his cellphone rang. "H'llo?" he mumbled, reaching for the lamp switch.

"House? It's Cuddy. I have a huge favor to ask."

With the light now on, he glanced at the clock. 5:00 AM. He knew Cuddy got up this early, but he definitely did _not_, and she knew that. There must be something seriously wrong.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"It's my mother," she replied. "She's sick, and I need to go find out how bad it is. I might need to stay a few days to take care of her. I can't take Rachel with me, because she would miss school, and I really wouldn't be able to watch both her and my mother, anyway."

House was quickly figuring out where this was going, and decided he'd better try to wake up.

"House...is there any way you can come over here and watch Rachel for a few days? It would only be at night – the nanny will still pick her up from school and watch her until you could get here from work. I wouldn't ask, but it's really an emergency..."

"S'fine," he mumbled. He was too bleary to be able to listen to a lengthy explanation of why he was her last choice for a babysitter. "When do you need me over there?"

She paused. "Um...would you be able to come now? I'd like to get Rachel used to the idea before I totally disappear today. And I have to leave by six."

He closed his eyes. There went his plans for a few extra hours of sleep this morning. "Be there in ten minutes," he told her. He hung up the phone, found some clothes, and headed out the door.

As he drove through Princeton's dark streets, he wondered why he had said yes to this at all. Their coffee date had gone well – both parties had been friendly, and they had left smiling. But at no point in time had either mentioned being in a relationship again, or anything at all about their future. So as far as he could tell, this was not going to help his chances of getting back together with Cuddy, because he actually had no chances.

So why was he doing this, again? He supposed he had missed Rachel in the time they had been apart. He had really grown to like the little girl, and it was nice having someone look up to him.

He parked in Cuddy's driveway, and found the front door was unlocked. So like Cuddy to think about every last detail.

As he walked in, he heard Cuddy exclaim, "What are you _watching_?"

"T.V., you bloody scalawag," replied the tiny voice. House grinned and walked into the living room.

Cuddy looked up from the t.v. "_You_! You let her watch this horrible show, didn't you?"

"She has to learn how to talk to pirates at some point," he protested. "I mean, how are _you_ preparing her for life?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes and turned off the t.v. "Okay, Rachel. House is here, and he's going to spend a few days here with you. Remember what we talked about. I'll call you every night, and if there is anything wrong, you need to tell House right away. Okay?"

"'Kay, mommy," Rachel replied. House sat down on the sofa, and Rachel snuggled in next to him.

"As for you," she said, pointing to House, "there's a list of numbers on the fridge. I assume you know what to do in the event of a medical emergency. And I'll be calling every night. Got it?"

"Relax. We'll be fine. Right, Rachel?"

Rachel nodded and smiled at House. Cuddy nodded too, feeling a little better already.

"You need to get her to school by 8:30. The nanny picks her up. I'll see you in a few days." She grabbed her purse and went to the door, but paused. "Thank you, House. This really means a lot to me."

House nodded, meeting her eyes, and then turned back to Rachel. "What do you want for breakfast, ye mangy bilge rat?"

She giggled. "Pancakes. Arrrrrr."

Cuddy smiled and shut the door behind her. Maybe she was worrying about nothing. It seemed like House was perfectly capable of handling her daughter.

HC/HC/HC/HC/HC/HC

Cuddy came back a day early, and House greeted her with a homemade chocolate chip cookie. "We did some baking," he explained sheepishly. She had caught him bonding with Rachel and emulating Betty Crocker. He might have to turn in his man card for good. He had planned to have all evidence of the baking cleaned up and eaten by the time she got back, but she had foiled that plan by arriving an entire day early.

She bit into the cookie. "Mmmmm. You guys make a good baking team." She loved the idea of House wearing an apron and baking with her daughter.

House checked to make sure that Rachel was still okay sitting at the kitchen table with her coloring book, then returned to the living room. "So you're back early."

Cuddy nodded, rolling her eyes. "Turns out my mother wasn't having 'severe health problems.' Her hip replacement was giving her problems getting around. She just kept coming up with chores for me to do. But when I offered to have her move in with me, she felt magically better and sent me back home."

House laughed. Cuddy smiled at him. She couldn't remember the last time he had seen him laugh – certainly not since their breakup. She didn't mention the other reason she had returned early – she had spent the whole time at her mother's house thinking about House. She could not seem to get him off of her mind. Now that she was back, she intended to do something about it.

"So what did you two do while mommy was away?"

"Nothing that will be on anybody's permanent police record," House answered evasively. They both laughed again.

"We colored, played with dolls, watched some t.v. – not the pirate show," he hastily added. "And we obviously baked cookies. Speaking of which, let me get the kitchen cleaned up, and then I'll be out of your way."

He stood up, but she grabbed his hand. He looked down at her with curiosity.

"Stay for a while," she said softly, pulling him back down. He obediently sat again, still giving her a confused look.

Cuddy leaned over and gently kissed him. "Stay for a while," she repeated.

He looked into her eyes, his confused look replaced by a smile. "For how long?" he asked.

"All night," she whispered.

He leaned in this time to kiss her. When they broke apart again, he couldn't help but ask, "Do you think we can last this time?"

She looked into his eyes, shaking her head slightly. "I don't know. I guess we just take it one day at a time."


End file.
